Hopeless
by Shorty the Great
Summary: A small glimpse on Cloud before the events of Advent Children. He isn't in a happy place. (Rating changed from T to K )


Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the source material. Final Fantasy and all associated characters belong to Square Enix.

Characer: Cloud Strife

A/N: Pre _Advent Children_. I'm not sure about the rating, would be cool if some of you gave me feedback on this. For now I have this on T. _  
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The night was cool and windy, as it was usual for this time around the year. And if he had read the cloud patterns correctly, rain wasn't too far behind. Spring was beginning to settle itself in Midgar, but the winter's cold grasp returned every now and then, albeit each time less powerful then before. But he didn't care. The chilling breeze didn't really bother him at all. The Mako in his body was like a built in furnace, albeit involuntarily built in.

Sighing, he removed the arm he had been covering his eyes with. He had just woken up from another horrible nightmare. Sleep wouldn't claim him again tonight that much was sure, as usual.

The wind gently, almost teasingly played with his blond spiky hair, howling softly in the corners and inside the rusty pipes of the organ of this old and mighty building.

A soft grunt brook through the wind's melody, as he turned on to his side so that he could admirer the sight unfolding underneath the moon's serene light, shining through the broken ceiling of the Church of Gospel. _Her_ church.

Cloud drew a deep breath, filled with the delicate scent of the yellow and white flowers, which claimed the church as _her_ governors. _Her…_

 _...Aerith..._

He shot to his feet, grabbing his blade, ready to strike who ever had dared to invade this sacred place, under his watch none the less. Blazing blue eyes frantically searched for the origin of the voice he just had heard. A moment of tense silence passed and there was nothing. He had yet to hear movement or at least… No. Cloud shook his head dismissively at his own paranoia, calming his breath.

"It was just my imagination." Looking around to confirm himself, he found that he truly was the only one inside the building. _Her_ church. _Aerith's_ church.

The moonlight illuminating his figure reflected off the blade, making him look more intimidating then he already was. His Mako infused eyes were glowing in the dark from his shadowed face.

As the he was about to put his sword back to it's resting place, his vision suddenly blurred and he sank to his knees, clutching his left arm in pain. His arm was hurting like it was being beaten with a crowbar over and over again, in addition to millions of needles piercing his flesh. The burning made it all a lot worse. He muffled his pain filled screams as best as he could, while flashes of past battles, past enemies and past _failures_ made appearance in his mind, giving him an encore from his nightmares.

… _Nibelheim…_ Aerith _… Sephiroth…_

At this point he didn't know if the pain came from the geostigma or from those dreaded memories, which never seemed to give him a break, or if it was both of them combined. In all honesty, he didn't want to know. It just hurt like hell reminding him time and time again about his own pitiful existence.

… _There just is no cure for it…_

Mere five seconds passed and the spasm was over, but for Cloud it always felt like an eternity. Panting heavily, he crawled back to his sleeping bag and collapsed upon it. The geostigma was another reason for why he wasn't able to get a full nights sleep.

He felt so alone, lost and confused. He hated it, he always felt like that whenever the painful spasms stopped. He longed for company, yet he couldn't bring himself to admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not _to her._

… _Tifa…_

The reason he felt so alone, the geostigma, was also the reason he had chosen to exile himself from her life. From the lives of everyone he held dear. Denzel, Marlene, Vincent… _Tifa_ … just everyone.

 _There just is no cure for the geostigma._

And if Cloud was honest with himself, he felt like he truly deserved the pain caused by these dark scars covering his upper left arm. It was his punishment and a truly deserved one. He had let everyone down in the past and now he was doing it again, though he convinced himself that staying away from everyone would make it easier for them to overcome his inevitable death. There just was no cure for it.

 _But what about ten year old Denzel, or the others suffering the same fate? What have_ they _done to deserve this hellish pain?_

Clutching his head in an attempt to put all these conflicting, confusing thoughts and emotions at bay, to drive them back to that hole where they came from, he pleaded to be granted entry in the realm sleep again.

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A/N: A big thank you to majorelorne and clockwork-silence (both on tumblr) for beta reading. And another big thank _you_ for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. There might me a second chapter. Emphasis on _might_.


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